Tag Archives: painters

I took a trip to the Royal Academy today and ventured inside their Pace Gallery; What a wonderful surprise to find the work of one of my favourite living artists on show there: Adrian Ghenie.

I first encountered the painter in Vitamin P2, a huge tome that showcases modern painters across the globe who are carrying the medium of paint forward.

I’m familiar with Ghenie’s darker, more obviously figurative works in which human bodies stand or hang isolated in decaying industrial environments. I’m drawn to his use of light and exceptional draughtsmanship but the biggest pull for me is how Ghenie fully utilises and highlights the materiality of paint itself.

I really felt that the works currently on show at Pace exemplify his love of the medium.

Blobs, smudges and swirls greet the viewer in a storm of colour and for me there’s a real sense of an artist who is passionate about paint.

Ghenie’s subject is both figurative and abstract, with many of the works featuring a bearded man emerging from a maelstrom of marks, joined by elusive, distorted objects to create a narrative.

I later learned the bearded figure is a reference to Darwin, and that much of Ghenie’s work in this series allude to the publication of The Origin of the Species (London, John Murray, 1859) and the subsequent misappropriation of its ideas by leaders such as Hitler and Stalin. Ghenie’s paintings explore how this rich history can be represented in the textural quality of paint, with caricatures of Darwin appearing as a recurring theme.

In a separate room at the back of the gallery, linked by a near pitch-black corridor, is an installation named “The Darwin Room”, which consists of 19th century furniture and construction materials arranged to form an antique, life-sized study room. The whole composition is intended as a sort of three-dimensional painting. I found the space incredibly dark and foreboding, as though something sinister had happened (or was about to happen!) Was this the scene of a grand scheme or a place to hide from something? The austere space with it’s illuminated corner was one of intrigue.

I left the RA thoroughly inspired today and would recommend everyone (especially fellow painters) to visit this exhibition. I’m already a lover of paint and need no persuasion to take up the brush and create, but Ghenie’s luscious, generous brushmarks make me feel like I can do so much more with this centuries-old material.

Adrian Ghenie “Golems”
Pace London at the Royal Academy of Arts
Burlington Gardens until July 25th.

This is my first proper blog in a long time, but I’ve been testing out some new materials and thought it’d be useful to write about it.

I was recently contacted on LinkedIn by Ben Smith of Loxley Arts (www.loxleyarts.co.uk), who asked if I’d like to test out some special palettes for acrylic paints. The request was out of the blue but much appreciated, and is a testament to the ubiquity of social media these days; don’t underestimate the power of Twitter, Facebook and other online networks, as you never know who or what you may find when using them!

I started using these palettes last week: They’re called Sta-Wet by a company called Masterson’s and they’re designed to keep acrylic paint wet and workable for an extended period of time. I’m sure most painters are acquainted with the way acrylic paint dries so fast. It’s one of the reasons why I use the medium, as it enables me to paint quickly and spontaneously. There are times however when I need to keep a particular colour I’ve mixed, or when I’ve had to take a break from my work and hope to continue with the same paint later. In the past I’ve resorted to drowning the palette in water and covering it with cling film to preserve it, but after 3 or more days (especially in the warmer, drier summer weather) the paint still dries up.

This is where the Sta-Wet palettes come in. They work by using a soaked sponge placed beneath some specially prepared paper, onto which your paint is applied just like you would with a solid palette. The paper is quite durable and even withstands my palette knife when I mix paint on it. The sponge and paper are kept inside an airtight plastic box, so that when you’re done painting for the day, you can seal it up and come back to it later.

I’ve been using these palettes all week and was quite impressed with how they’d kept the paint wet. I didn’t get much chance to do my work for almost four days and when I returned to my palette, the paint was still workable and absolutely wet, with no sign of ‘clotting’ or forming a skin.

You do have to be careful if there’s too much water in the sponge when you seal the box, as the humid atmosphere in the container can actually dilute the paint, but if you remember to take out the sponge and gently press out the excess water before placing the special paper back on top, the acrylic paint is pretty much exactly as when it came out of the tube. I also think it’s a good idea to mix paint on a separate plastic/wooden palette and transfer it to the Sta-Wet surface, as I’ve found that when I’m mixing colours, they can spread out a bit and reduce space for adding more paint to the Sta-Wet palette (you can see an example of this in the photos in this post!). Basically these things do exactly what it says on the tin: they keep paint wet, so if you want to mix more on the palette, you’ll be doing it in the wet surface on the paper. I’ve been using acrylics on dry palettes for such a long time that I had to remind myself that in this case they weren’t going to dry in time for me to work over in-palette!

So would I recommend other artists to get these? Given how practical these palettes have been, and have saved me the mess and minor expense of using my clingfilm/water method (!), I would say yes. No doubt the pads of special refill paper carry an added cost, but I’d say it was worth it because you save on paint. If I think back to all the times I’ve had to scrape off thick, stratified layers of dried acrylic from my palettes, as well as the frustrating moments when I’ve mixed the perfect colour, applied it to my canvas, been distracted away from the work and then returned to find that wonderfully perfect hue completely dry and unusable, I’d say these little boxes are very handy and economical indeed.

As scientific advances and environmental pressures rapidly alter our relationship to the non-human and deconstruct humanist philosophies and values, how is the use of paint in the depiction of animals able to best represent this shift in thought towards other species? Can the use of paint represent animals in a way which is productive in terms of promulgating these changes in attitude, or at the very least decrying the antiquated humanist values behind animal depiction throughout history?

Moreover, who are the painters who would meet the criteria in relation to posthumanist thinking and what are their motives regarding the animal ‘other’? Although I briefly describe the term posthumanism later in this dissertation, to comprehensively define it is beyond the scope of this essay. Much of the terminology and theory gathered in regards to the definition appropriated for this discourse is from a handful of writers whose supporting explanations and comments are referenced accordingly. It is also important to note that this essay does not concern itself with the kinds of questions asked in John Berger’s famous work Why Look at Animals? such as the reasons for our loss of a connection with nature, although the book certainly has a vital context within this discussion. In addition, this essay is not intended as a defence for the validity of painting in contemporary art practice.

As we progress into the 21st century, it will be argued that painting is enjoying a renaissance as a genre, with a surge of emerging artists utilising the medium in a plethora of styles and with a multitude of subjects. The intention here is not to value one medium over another in the representation of the non-human, but rather highlight a selection of contemporary artists who are using paint in ways relevant and beneficial to the emerging field of animal studies within posthumanities.

A brief history of animals in art

The history of the representation of animals in art is unarguably as long as the history of art itself. The cave paintings of Lascaux and the rock art of the Australian aborigines depicted animals as the first subject and the first medium in art was most likely animal blood and fats, perhaps mixed with pigments. Throughout the ages, at least until the mid-16th century, animals were chiefly used across cultures as motifs, symbols and totems and as vehicles for religious and metaphorical values. Representing animals accurately in a physiognomic sense can be dated back to Greek Hellenistic art, but with the dawn of the woodcut and mass printing, illustrators in the Middle Ages began to compile imaginative pictures of creatures purported to exist at the edges of the known world, such as those in the Ashmole Bestiary of the 13th century, now held at the Bodleian Libraries of the University of Oxford.

With the Enlightenment, these medieval bestiaries of fantastical beasts and inaccurately described specimens gave way to more concise encyclopedias of a taxonomic and scientific standard by illustrating different species using ink and graphite. The illustrators aimed to pave the way for a new depiction of non-human species, one they intended to be largely free of symbolism and sentimentalism, as scientists began to categorise and codify the world around them.

Perhaps two of the most important scientists to influence natural history in terms of creating order and eliminating fantasy from animal illustration were Georges-Louis Leclerc De Buffon (1707-1788) and Carolus Linnaeus (1707-1778). The latter was a Swedish botanist, famous for developing the classification system of plants and animals still in use today, the former a naturalist noted (among other scientific accomplishments) for his Histoire naturelle published in the mid-1700s. Buffon and his contemporaries produced illustrations and engravings of animals portrayed in a noble and aristocratic style that mirrored the portrait and genre paintings fashionable at the time. The artists strived to show off animals in ways which made them appear ‘clean, neat and innocent’ and clearly recognisable for taxonomical purposes; they were often painted from taxidermied specimens and positioned in unnatural stances to display their bodies and markings. Like the earlier illustrations of Nicolas Robert (1614-1685), who produced portraits of animals for the French royal family of Louis XIV, the animals were idealised and perfect, with barely a ruffled feather or misplaced hair. Today they would perhaps be considered as mere caricatures of animals. Buffon was also influenced by Dutch artists such as Aelbert Cuyp (1620-1691) and Paulus Potter (1625-1654), whose hunting and agricultural scenes in oils were commissioned by the wealthy classes at the same time as Robert. These Dutch painters were following a tradition of painting animals that would continue alongside wildlife illustration until the present day and was at its most popular in western European society during the 18th and 19th centuries.

Where most 18th century animal illustration was designed to impress wealthy clientele with its gaudy, flamboyant and often inaccurate style, at the turn of the 19th century, the work of British illustrator Thomas Berwick had adopted a new approach. Forsaking the large colourful format, Berwick brought a ‘new insight into animal portraiture’ with a revival in woodcuts and an emphasis on physiognomic accuracy. After Berwick came John James Audubon and Joseph Wolf in the mid-1800s: two illustrators whose technical skill appealed to prevailing Victorian tastes. At a time when the British Empire was at its height, their close observation and honest depiction of animals contributed to the collection of specimens in the name of science and taxonomy.

It is important to note the relationship between the two fields (of illustration in the name of science and painting in the name of art), as they informed each other stylistically as well as objectively. Both were purchased by the wealthy and both were built upon a succession of styles and observations that were simultaneously improved upon and modified according to need. The application of taxonomy that these artists either advocated or ignored is a contributing factor to the current discourse surrounding the representation of animals and one that may be addressed by heeding contemporary posthumanist views. This will be covered in greater detail later in this essay, but first a historical context of paintings in relation to taxonomy must be discussed.

In flagrant disregard for the identification systems developed by naturalists of the Enlightenment, many of the illustrators and painters deliberately accentuated redeeming features of their subjects, or embellished the animals with richer colour and decorative effects. The artists often decided what to include and what to omit according to the tastes of their patrons or the fashions at the time.

Francois Desportes (1661-1743) and Jean-Baptiste Oudry (1686-1755) were two painters who are best noted for their scenes of sporting and the hunt. Like most other painters of the period who produced hunting scenes, they achieved a visual realism of species that was owed to a proximity to and familiarity with the animals they pursued. The paintings served as status symbols for the wealthy, reminding them of the nobility and grandeur of the hunt and ultimately of their power and prowess as leaders, land-owners and sportsmen. Although details such as the physiognomy or colouration were carefully attended to, as well as naturalistic poses both before and after the animals’ death, it was important for the animals to appear more ferocious and impressive than in reality and as a result the animals (or features of) were often exaggerated or over-dramatised.

Towards the end of the 18th century, animal portraiture continued to be popular with the wealthy, as pet ownership became a sign of affluence. Thomas Gainsborough (1727-1788) produced animal portraits, such as those of dogs, for rich patrons. In striving to capture the animals’ character in paint, attention to detail became paramount. The fashionable practice of painting horses for rich landowners was also prevalent at this time, with exponents such as George Stubbs (1724-1806) leading the way in this oeuvre. The paintings were a record of their owner’s possessions and triumphs and care was given to imbue the animals with valiant and even individual qualities. Although Whistlejacket, a painting of the Marquess of Rockingham’s racehorse made in 1762, is considered one of the first paintings to place an animal as the central subject, it is contested by those who believe the portrait was initially going to feature a landscape and rider but that Stubbs was forced to leave the painting unfinished at the request of Rockingham. Whatever the original intention, the individual character expressed in the equine subject is undeniable. It is with these paintings of domesticated animals that taxonomy is displaced by individuality as a means of achieving accuracy.

Following Stubbs and Gainsborough came other painters during the Romantic era, including Theodore Gericault (1791-1824), William Blake (1757-1827) and Eugene Delacroix (1798-1863), all of whom sought to depict raw animal energy and vitality. The Romantics sympathised with the savage fierceness of animality and in their paintings they tried to show an admiration of animal beauty and the wild. Delacroix in particular ‘exposed a new religion of violence’ with regard to animals, painting scenes of carnage between predator and prey with startling realism. In contrast, Gericault’s animals, such as Head of a Lion (1820) were much gentler and more sentimental and it is this sentimentality that became prevalent in 19th century painting. Painters like Gustave Courbet (1819-1877) and Sir Edwin Henry Landseer (1802-1873) followed the tradition of animal portraiture for the upper classes, producing realistic images ranging from dying stags in hunting scenes to family lapdogs staring sorrowfully towards the spectator-owner. In a description of one such painting titled Dignity and Impudence, writer Frances Fowle describes how:

Landseer draws attention to the dogs’ ‘human’ characteristics: the soulful look and gentle dignity of the bloodhound is contrasted with the mischievous expression of the small terrier. Moreover, the larger dog is painted in smooth, variegated textures, while the smaller dog comes to life with a few jabbing and expressive brushstrokes.

This use of paint to stylistically anthropomorphise animals was a popular trend at the time and demonstrates the painters’ tendency to ignore the animals’ true bearing in the world and overlay it with humanist affectations.

Whether consciously or not the artists of the late 19th century were producing such realistic paintings in response to the development of photography; a technological influence on paint that will be explored later. It was also at this time that the binary of nature-culture was strengthened by the industrial and scientific advances of the Victorian era and both animals and ‘the wild’ receded into the distance and were romanticised. By the end of the nineteenth century, this sentimentalism in the treatment of painted animals culminated in the work of the Pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood, whose excessively romantic imagery featured animals only as narrative references and metaphors, realistic though they were. William Holman Hunt’s (1827-1910) The Scapegoat painted in 1856 is a good example, portraying a male goat laden with metaphorical and allegorical meaning. Despite the faithful rendering of its hair and physiognomic accuracy, it is impossible to ignore the desolate surroundings and red crown that implicate the mammal in a deeper religious agenda on the part of the artist.

For over 170 years photography has had a profound effect on the art of the 20th century. Although many painters, such as Degas, Courbet and Delacroix embraced photography and often even used it to help depict movement or achieve accuracy in their painted animal subjects, it eventually undermined painting’s claim to historical and documentary authority. It is no accident that the development of photography eventually led to a peak followed by a subsequent decline in the realistic representation of animals, both in terms of romantic painting and natural history illustration. The work of Eadweard Muybridge and his use of photography to investigate the motion of living beings is particularly significant and perhaps places him as the central figure in the history of the reproduced image. In the year 1879, Muybridge successfully documented specific visual information about the locomotion of animals and people. His work revealed the significance of an accession of images instead of the noteworthiness of a select few and for the first time people could truly understand the way non-human and human anatomy functioned.

Muybridge’s experiments and the rise of photography altered the purpose of the painter. The understanding and interpretation of the visual world was affected; events (such as motion) could be isolated in static images, scrutinised and reproduced on an unprecedented scale. As a result, artists produced works which focused on the very qualities early photography did not possess: the play of light, the expressive qualities of paint and the spontaneity of creation, which resulted in the movements of Impressionism and Expressionism that still find popularity today. By concentrating on colour, movement and the gestural, emotive qualities of paint, animals painted after the Romantics became prime vehicles for expression and metaphor. German Expressionist, Franz Marc (1880-1916) is one of the most famous animal painters, whose paintings depicted the spiritual beauty he found in non-humans.

Other 20th century artists who depicted animals did so as supplements to their oeuvres of genre paintings, still-lifes or portraits, positing the non-human as symbolic accessories to whatever narrative was being constructed in the work and even using animals to represent themselves, such as in the Surrealist paintings of Marc Chagall (1887-1985), where the artist used creatures such as goats or horses to signify his own presence in a picture. In his article on the artist, Simon Abrahams describes The Painter and the Goat (1982) as a piece in which:

Chagall placed his own figure behind the goat as if to say ‘I am the goat’…One eye of the goat is placed horizontally, flat on the surface, as an eye of the artist often is in self-portraits. The painter’s palette-arm is hidden though one leg of the goat extends straight towards the thumb-hole of the palette as though the goat’s leg and the painter’s thumb are linked.